You Never Know
by SiriusWhack
Summary: Sirius Black couldn't remember the day he realised he was gay. It wasn't really a big deal for him; so he thought it best to just keep to himself. That was, until he met Remus Lupin - a beautiful, brilliant boy from the local bookstore. There was one, tiny problem though. Remus was straight. Non-magic AU TRIGGER: Abuse


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own, obviously.**

* * *

Sirius Black couldn't remember the day he realised he was gay. It wasn't really a big deal for him. A lot of people were gay. People on TV, people in his family, people he didn't even know! No, there was nothing strange about it for him. He accepted it and went on with his life as if everything was normal - because it was. This being said, he decided to keep it to himself. He knew what many people's opinions on homosexuality was. He'd heard his mother talk in disgusted tones about her own relatives, he'd seen people get into fights over their presumed sexuality, and he'd seen on TV what lengths people go to to get rid of people like him. So, he thought it best to just keep to himself. That was, until he met Remus Lupin.

Remus was the first boy Sirius 'liked'. He had brown, shoulder length hair and light brown eyes. Remus was a twenty-year old bookshop assistant with a strange fixation with the 70's punk era. Sirius, being just sixteen at the time, thought that Remus was inexplicably brilliant and beautiful - inside and out. There was one, tiny problem though. Remus was straight.

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Sirius shot up in his bed. He grabbed wildly at his alarm clock, willing it to be quiet. After a few more 'beep's it fell silent. The face read six a.m. He stayed sat in his bed for a few more minutes, listening for any noise, before he stood up and tiptoed to his door. His ear pressed itself against the wall. Nothing. A mental sigh of relief was let out before he walked back to his bed and began getting dressed for the day ahead.

Looking around his sparsely furnished room, he could easily see where he'd flung his t-shirt the night before. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled on the tattered material as fast as he could. He didn't have long, that much he knew. The exact amount of time, he could only guess. A pair of jeans and a jacket later, he was ready to leave the house.

He walked carefully across the landing and down the stairs, all the while praying to every deity he could think of that the floorboards would stop creaking. At the bottom of the stairs, he pulled on his trainers and was out the door just in time to hear his mother's feet hit her bedroom floor. He didn't dare stop moving in case she somehow caught up with him.

At the end of his road, Sirius waited in the shabby bus shelter. Graffiti covered the seats, and the walls, and the timetables. Silly little doodles of guns and male genitalia, surrounded by declarations of love from relationships which probably didn't last more than a few weeks at the most. He sighed, this time out loud.

The village of Abbeyton had been Sirius' home for the past fifteen years. It was quite small. The only buildings they had were the essentials - a newsagents, a post office, a police station, a fire station, a village hall, a school, and - of course - houses. The scenery had once been described to Sirius as beautifully understated. The people were friendly and the population of the village was only about 300 so everyone pretty much knew each other. Sirius hated it all. To him, the whole place was bloody horrible. The newsagents never stocked any good food, the police officers didn't do anything, the houses were shabby, and all the 'friendly' villagers knew him as 'Sirius that-poor-boy-with-the-drunkard-abusive-mother'. It was hell. That's why every morning, instead of going to school, he'd catch the bus into town looking for anywhere that would hire a teenage boy with no qualifications. He'd been doing this for the past two years and so far he'd had no luck.

After twenty minutes of waiting, a bus finally pulled up to the shelter and waited for Sirius to get on. As he paid, Sirius spoke to the driver.

"Up town again today, Sirius?" the driver, an old Jamaican man named Rory, asked.

"Yeah I guess. Can't give up hope, I'm running out of money." For the past few months Ryan had been stealing from shops and selling the goods on the streets for a lower price. It wasn't going to last much longer thought, some workers had already caught him stealing and others were starting get suspicious. "You reckon they'd let me drive your bus?" He asked in what was supposed to be a humorous way but actually sounded a bit desperate. Rory laughed,

"They hardly trust me to drive the bus, little man. Keep trying, you'll find somewhere that'll have you." The bus started moving and Sirius was jolted sideways. He moved to the back of the bus and sat down with all the adults going to work. Sirius liked Rory; he was funny and much nicer than the other bus drivers.

The scenery outside of the bus windows changed as Sirius travelled further and further away from Abbeyton. Gone were the small houses and open fields, they were now replaced by tall offices and morning traffic. This is why Sirius loved Glymore; it was so chaotic and full of life. He felt more at home here than he did anywhere else. Staring out of the bus' grimy windows, Sirius watched people passing. This was his favourite way of spending the forty minute bus journey. By watching people, he could make up a life for them in his head. For example, he watched a woman running down the road in a summer dress and Converse trainers. He decided that she was running to meet up with her boyfriend who was sat waiting for her in the chippy. She was hoping that he'd be asking her to marry him today, but he actually just wants to tell her that he's been given a promotion at work and is moving to Germany. She would be heartbroken and a very loud argument would ensue.

Not all of his stories were this sad, but most were. Sirius couldn't bring himself to give people happy endings - mainly because he himself probably wouldn't get one. It was cruel but he didn't care. If life was allowed to be cruel, then so was he.

Fifteen minutes later, the bus stopped and Sirius stepped off, thanking Rory as he left. He breathed in the polluted air and smiled. It was wonderful.

Sirius walked down a couple of side streets and appeared on Glymore's high street. Looking to the left, Sirius could see an endless amount of shops and offices, all brimming with life. In the opposite direction, all that could be seen was a multi-storey car park and the town's library. Sirius found no interest in books. As far as he was concerned, if people wanted to waste their time reading about something they could've thought up themselves, they were fools. He shook his head and turned to the left, mixing with the people walking the streets.

The high street was always quite busy at this time. Everyone was trying to get into work on time and no one seemed to care who they bumped in to. This made it easy pickings for Sirius. He bumped into a woman and caught her when she fell off balance.

"Sorry." he apologised before walking off and pocketing the purse from her bag. He used to feel guilty about this talent of his, but he soon got over it. After a brisk walk and few more 'accidental' bumps, Sirius found himself in front of a large clothing store. It was yet to open but Sirius wasn't looking to go shopping; he had spotted the plain 'HELP WANTED' sign just as he was pocketing a man's wallet and had immediately decided to take a closer look. He decided that he might as well apply; so he stood, banging on the glass doors until a member of staff came out.

"Can I help you?" a man, mid-thirties, asked tersely. He seemed a bit peeved about the noise.

"Er, yeah. I was gonna apply for the job that's going." The man looked disbelievingly at Sirius.

"Really? You look twelve." he quipped, snidely.

"No. I'm seventeen." Sirius lied. He always used that age when applying for jobs, there was much more chance of him getting a job with that age than his own.

"Course you are." the man said sarcastically. "If you want to apply then I'll be more than happy to interview you right now. Firstly, what' your name?"

"Sirius Black."

"Address?"

"Erm... 5 Ashmore Close, Abbeyton. I think... I haven't had to know my address before." It was strange; no one usually asked what his address was. Sirius blushed at his own stupidity as the man continued.

"Right... qualifications?" he questioned. Sirius froze, that was one question he was hoping he could skip. The man waited for Sirius' answer and cleared his throat when Sirius didn't offer one. "Well?" he asked.

"I... er... you see...it's a long story...I...um...n-none." Sirius stuttered. The man raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow before closing the glass door in Sirius' face and locking it.

Sirius moved from place to place, asking to apply wherever he could. It was no luck. Everywhere he went, he was met with rejection. The afternoon came and went and eventually Sirius found himself back on the bus with no job and in a much worse mood than he was in this morning. The bus stopped at the bus shelter and Sirius got off. He hated Abbeyton.

Everything seemed worse when he was in a bad mood. The people weren't just annoying, they were exasperating. The houses weren't just shabby, they were derelict. It was just too much effort to be happy. Sirius walked back down the road to his own house and went inside as quietly as he could. There was no noise from within so he presumed his mother had gone to the newsagents. He pushed his trainers off and walked into the kitchen hoping he was correct in his presumption. He wasn't.

Walburga Black was stood in the kitchen, glaring at Sirius as he stepped in the doorway. At thirty-four-years old, Walburga didn't look too good. Her hair was straw-like and much too thin; wrinkles lined her face; her skin was sallow and her breath constantly smelt of the foulest alcohol. She hadn't always looked like this; in fact she used to be quite pretty. A couple of years ago, Sirius had found a picture from his parent's wedding day. Both Walburga and Orion, his father, looked happy, and young, and healthy. That all changed when his father died. After Orion's death, Walburga had taken to drinking all day and sleeping all night. The abuse had only started about a year ago. Sirius was growing up and looked so much like his father that Walburga took all her anger about Orion being gone out on Sirius.

There was silence for a few minutes before Walburga growled,

"Whe'ya bin?" Sirius frowned; he hated it when she spoke like that. They may live in what some might consider 'poverty' but his mother was actually quite well spoken at times.

"School." he replied shortly.

"Dunno why y' bother." she huffed, "not gon' do anyfink wiv y' life." Sirius tried to quell the anger he felt building in his stomach. If he had no future, she was the reason. She didn't work, she didn't make any money, and she refused to be a positive influence in her son's life.

"If that's the case, I guess I really am your son." he snapped before he time to think through what he saying. Walburga straightened up at the comment and towered over him. He was frozen.

"You dare talk to me like that, boy?" There it was, there was the well-spoken witch he'd grown up with. Her hand moved so fast that Sirius had no time to react and was stuck across the face. His cheek throbbed with pain but he ignored it - he'd had worse. The two stared blankly at each other. Sirius wondered whether she was finished but he had a strong feeling that he was just getting started.

Another blow was delivered, this time to his stomach, making him curl in on himself. A swift kick to his thighs made him buckle and fall to the floor. "What's wrong?" Walburga taunted as Sirius whimpered on the floor, "Can't take it?" she bent down and pulled him up by his hair. "Pathetic." Sirius closed his eyes and stayed quiet this time. He was too busy concentrating on blocking out the pain to notice the grip on his hair loosening and the sound of feet padding down the hall and up the stairs. When he opened his eyes, he was alone.

* * *

Sirius awoke in the morning with renewed vigour. There was a determination that wasn't present in his mind before. He wanted, no _needed_, to prove his mother wrong. He was going to get a job. He was going to be successful. He had to.

Sitting up, Sirius realised that he must have fallen asleep on the kitchen floor. It hadn't done him any good, he could feel his joints popping and cracking as he stretched and stood up. The clock on the kitchen wall told him that it was nine a.m. He stared at the time, shocked. It was the latest he'd slept in since he was eight. Two thoughts ran through his head.

1) Where was his mother? Surely she would have woken him up and pushed him out the house for the day? and  
2) When was the next bus due to arrive? He'd only ever caught his usual buses, how was he supposed to know when the next one was? It wasn't even possible to look at the time table in the bus shelter due to the copious amounts of graffiti.

"Guess I'm just gonna have to hope they come every hour." he mumbled to himself before straightening his clothes out. Running a hand through his tousled, black hair seemed to make it stop sticking in different directions. There was no mirror in the kitchen so the toaster's reflective surface was used to inspect his appearance. After deeming himself acceptable, Sirius opened the fridge and took out a carton of juice. The contents sloshed around in the carton, there wasn't much left. He downed the dregs before throwing the carton in the bin next to the fridge and jogging upstairs.

Walburga wasn't home, he concluded. If she was, he wouldn't have been allowed to make all the noise he'd been making. Probably hauled up in the police station, he thought wryly, it wouldn't be the first time.

At the top of the staircase, Sirius turned to the right and walked into the house's cramped bathroom. Sirius liked this room - even if it was too small. His father had decorated it when they'd first moved into this house. The top halves of the walls were white and the bottom half were covered in blue tiles. The linoleum flooring had a mosaic pattern and the suite was fitting to the room. There used to be a mirror on the wall above the sink but it had been smashed during another of his mother's tirades. Sirius frowned at the memory and picked up his toothbrush and toothpaste. After applying the paste, he brushed his teeth hard. Maybe a little too hard as him gums began to bleed. He spat the toothpaste and blood into the sink and watched it float into the drain when he turned the taps on.

He walked swiftly across the landing, checking his mother's room and only half-hoping she wasn't dead in a pool of her own vomit. Opening the door, Sirius saw that the room was empty. He took one look at the broken glass covering the floor and stains littering the walls before closing the door and walking back downstairs. He pulled on his trainers and walked out into the Saturday morning sunshine.

Whistling tunelessly as he strode towards the bus shelter, he felt positive. Today was going to be good, he could feel it.


End file.
